


House of Balloons

by luchia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Group Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, or attempted PWP at least, so much sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luchia/pseuds/luchia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Enjolras is going to lose his virginity, he is going to do it as thoroughly as possible. With strangers. At a sex club. Because this is obviously the reasonable thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of Balloons

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so in my fight towards being an asexual person who writes smut, I decided I need to try and write PWP. I tried to make it as thorough of sex as possible, and this is what I ended up with. Personally, I think it's hilarious, but RESULTS VARY?
> 
> (Also the title is the best sex-writing music ever A++ would recommend.)

“Password,” the man at the door says, eyes coldly looking Enjolras over.

Enjolras has done so much research about this place that he probably knows more about it than the owners. He has blueprints, tax records, and water and power usage statistics for the past twelve years. He has the fucking city zoning records from 1903. He even knows the man in front of him – Jonathan Finch is 28 years old and a part-time student at the local university. His pay is $18 an hour. He got a 520 SAT score. He has a cat named Gizmo. And he is asking for a password that Enjolras does not know.

This is not helping Enjolras stay calm.

“I don’t have a password,” Enjolras says honestly.

“I know you don’t,” Jonathan Finch says, suddenly smiling at Enjolras before he pulls out a clipboard. “There’s a fake password members give out when outsiders get pushy, we don’t actually have one. You’re Enjolras?”

“Yes I am,” Enjolras says, firm. Because he can do this. There is nothing he can’t do about this. He is going to calm down any second now, and he definitely knows his own name.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jonathan says, and holds out his hand. It takes Enjolras a moment to realize he wants a handshake, which Enjolras provides even though he knows the man can feel how sweaty his palms are. It doesn’t seem to faze Jonathan, though, who puts a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. It’s probably supposed to be comforting. “Don’t worry, everyone’s nervous first time in, you’re doing great. I had one girl throw up, once. Listen, I notice you don’t have any no-gos listed, is that correct? You can always change it, but if you’re hesitant about _anything_ , you should put it down.”

Enjolras has no limits because he has no experience and has no fucking clue what he’s going to like or not like, which is something he is going to take to his _grave_. So he says, “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

Jonathan shrugs. “Well, remember you can change it at any time, and you can always flag someone down,” he says. And with an exchange of photo ID and another reassurance that Enjolras is _doing great_ , whatever the fuck that means when you’re just waiting to go through a door. Jonathan opens it with a key, and swings it open with a cheery smile while he holds it open like a butler.

Inside is the cloak room, with a polite female attendant waiting at the counter with a pleasant smile. Everyone here is very friendly, and Enjolras is starting to think he’d prefer intimidating people – he has a bad habit of trying to be friendly back at people, and friendly is not the mindset for tonight, is it. No, the mindset for tonight is determination and dedication and achieving his goals.

He’s been called a hypocrite or a liar or told _what could you possibly know_ when he tried to talk about anything sex-related since he turned sixteen and everyone assumed sex was a thing people his age did. Enjolras is now twenty-six and sick and tired of having to deal with that argument, the _what do you know about it you’re a virgin_ argument that is completely absurd but time-consuming and irritating to the extreme. So he is here to have sex. He is here to have every kind of sex he can possibly manage in one night.

Enjolras is going to have every kind of sex he can possibly manage in one night, and he is going to _like it_. He’s not asexual, he’s…well to be honest Enjolras isn’t all that sure what he is, beyond that he’s usually if not always attracted to men but honestly if he goes by percentages probably 70% of the people he ever talks to are male (which is a wrong he is going to right) so how the fuck should he know, he’s never actually sat down and seriously thought about this kind of shit. Enjolras has _priorities_. He has priorities and goals, and they will be advanced by him having a lot of sex right now.

He researched for four months to find an appropriate location for this. It’s the least risky place Enjolras has ever heard of – which has a lot to do with the fact he’d _never_ heard about this place. He had to sign a confidentiality agreement to even get on the consideration list. And now that he’s looking at the cheery cloak room attendant, she’s holding out another one.

“All members sign a confidentiality agreement on every visit,” she says, holding out a conveniently already-clicked ballpoint pen for him. “It’s the same document you signed earlier, but with a specific date on it.”

“That’s legally superfluous,” Enjolras says.

She just shrugs.

Enjolras sighs, and signs it.

“Thank you,” the attendant (Clara Meguro, age 31, mother of two) says, practically chimes at him. “It’s your first time visiting so I won’t suggest you leave your garments here, but it is an option if you’d like.” She gestures behind herself, where there’s everything from tuxedos and ballgowns to sweats and gym clothes. There aren’t many jeans and shirts like what Enjolras is wearing, so he figures that’s a pretty blatant sign of average dress code. Go casual (but not _sloppy_ ), or go naked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Enjolras says.

“Alright then,” the attendant says. “There are four exits, including this one, the front door. They’re-”

“I know where they are,” Enjolras interrupts, because he wants to get out of here and get it over with, he has a _mission_ and-

A chime goes off, loud and terrifyingly reminiscent of correct answers on quiz shows, and Enjolras jumps, feels like he probably jumped out of his skin, hell, his _muscles_ , and he has to catch his breath. He sends a suspicious glare at the attendant, who is still smiling (a little too innocently) when she gestures towards the other door. The chime was probably some sort of unlocking alarm. Whatever someone would need an alarm for that for. Well, he won’t say no to any and all measures of security.

He doesn’t wait for the attendant to politely say goodbye or anything. He grabs the plain wooden door’s doorknob tightly. Enjolras has no doubts whatsoever about this and there’s no reason to be nervous because he’s always believed that sex is a natural desire that he’s personally never felt the desperate urge to satisfy.

This is just controlling the inevitable.

Enjolras already knows what the room on the other side of the door is going to look like, or at least the elements it’ll contain. It’s not a bordello-style sprawl. It’s clean lines and simple whites and blues and brightly lit, and the floor is a hardwood bamboo which is heated, so there’s no reason for him to hesitate about walking through.

He feels like time is stretching on and on as he holds onto the doorknob, but in reality it’s barely four heartbeats before he gets a hold of himself and opens the door and steps through.

Enjolras barely has time to look at the clear light in the atrium, soft and bright like early morning with a false skylight illuminating everything. There are chaises and beds and couches and chairs strewn around the central room and the sounds of slapping flesh and gasps and moans and desperate panting are already assaulting him. He looks around the room with wide eyes, but he has no time to do more than that because he doesn’t even see where the woman comes from, but he’s pushed against the door (oh, that’s why there’s the chime) and she’s kissing him.

Thin fingers are curling in his hair, and Enjolras tries to kiss back, but it’s clumsy – he hasn’t kissed anyone in seven years. It’s clumsy and awful, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind, she just pulls his head down and manages to somehow coax his lips into parting with her tongue. It feels like thunder, and he can’t breathe. His eyes squeeze shut and his hands are probably flailing through the air because he has no idea what to do, where does he put his hands? What does he touch? Her tongue is sliding along his, twisting to tease the roof of his mouth, and Enjolras inhales sharply, sharp enough that it’s almost a gasp, because _wow_.

She pulls away abruptly, and Enjolras still barely knows what she looks like beyond dark skin and an amazingly talented tongue. Opening his eyes doesn’t help much, because by the time he manages it she’s already on her fucking knees and Enjolras is starting to think he’s going to hyperventilate. She doesn’t even _try_ to get his pants open, doesn’t even look at him, she just starts mouthing at his vaguely interested cock through his jeans and runs her hands up his thighs. Some pathetic kindergarten reflex has Enjolras slapping a hand over his own mouth, gaping at her while she breathes against his pants and fuck, he’s already shaking because _Jesus fucking Christ what is going on_ -

“Hey, come on,” someone says. It’s a man, and there’s a cool hand suddenly resting on the back of his neck. Enjolras’ eyes jerk up to see a man, standing just to the side of the kneeling woman’s and frowning down at her. Fondly. Enjolras thinks he might just be the most attractive person he’s ever seen, and even though the woman pulls away, Enjolras finds himself shuddering. “Seriously, Felicity, he’s _just_ through the door. That’s greedy even for you.”

The woman, Felicity, is really beautiful and has curly black hair already sticking to her skin from sweat and is grinning at the man. “Well _hello_ there, Grantaire,” she says, like it’s some sort of dirty little surprise to see him. “Off of the couch, I see.”

“You didn’t have as good of a view as I do from down there. He looked five seconds away from a heart attack. Or a panic attack,” Grantaire says, no accusation to it, and turns to look Enjolras in the eye, and what little breath Enjolras had is _gone_.

Enjolras is used to being attracted to people. It’s always a subtle awareness and interest when he sees someone his brain decides it likes. It’s easy to ignore. But with Grantaire it’s like someone punched him in the heart and the impact sent fire through his veins and his eyes are literally breathtaking, Enjolras is probably gaping at him and he really doesn’t give a fuck. He has never wanted someone like this before, never craved someone in a way that makes all those _hunger_ analogies on the radio suddenly seem perfectly logical.

“You’re sober,” Grantaire states.

“Everyone is required to be sober here,” Enjolras says, because he knows the rules and fuck, he wants to kiss Grantaire. He’s leaning forward slightly, leaning towards his very pretty lips without even meaning to.

“Oh shit, you’re a _virgin_ ,” Grantaire says. Enjolras would call his tone horrified, but it’s more…stunned. Reverent. He says it like a six year old girl learning she gets a _unicorn_ for her birthday. “Are you seriously a virgin?”

“I don’t like the term virgin. It implies some sort of naïve innocence regardless of how educated someone may be, even without personally having sex,” Enjolras says. It’s an argument he has made before. Tonight is hopefully the last time he’ll ever have to use it.

“Holy shit,” Grantaire says, gaping at him. “Fuck, what is. _Jesus_. How.”

“So I’m guessing just jumping in and deepthroating him isn’t a good idea,” Felicity says, sounding very disappointed. Enjolras almost feels disappointed too. But then his mind provides the image of _Grantaire_ on his knees and he’s barely managed a momentary mental glimpse of the possibility before he has to choke down an embarrassing noise. She stands, and Enjolras notices she’s wearing some sort of white teddy slip thing, even if it’s mostly transparent. Felicity is _very_ well shaped.

“We are going to treat him right,” Grantaire states, still staring at Enjolras. “We are going to make this _so fucking good_ for you. What’s your name?”

“Enjolras,” he says, and tries to calm his heart down. It’s almost physically painful to look away from Grantaire, but he needs to. Enjolras looks around the room – there are other rooms, too, ones that aren’t set up as a large sex-filled square, tiers of mattresses and cushions. He concentrates on the obscene sounds of the room, the scent of sex clinging to everything. Enjolras ends up laughing, running a hand down his face before turning to give Felicity and Grantaire a wry smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Enjolras,” Grantaire says. He’s wearing jeans but no shirt or shoes, which seems strange for some reason. He still has a hand on Enjolras’ neck, and his thumb starts to slide up and down the line of his throat. “This is Felicity. She _really_ likes sucking cock. I’m Grantaire, and I’m going to be your guide for the evening, if you’ll have me.”

“I will definitely have you,” Enjolras says, and _means it_.

“Then let’s start small,” Grantaire says, smiling.

“Well, I’m going to find _someone_ to play with,” Felicity says with a shrug, and leans in to kiss Grantaire. It’s a slow, filthy thing, and Grantaire’s hand goes tight around Enjolras’ neck and Enjolras does not expect to like the sharp pressure but he really fucking does, even if some part of him wants to tear Felicity away from Grantaire. Which is ridiculous. The kiss isn’t even very long. She kisses him, and then pats him on the cheek, and they’re obviously friends. “Call me when you get to my favorite part.”

“I never considered doing anything else,” Grantaire says loftily, dramatically.

Felicity laughs and gives him another kiss, this one an endeared peck on his lips before she walks away with a parting shot of, “Oh, you charming little liar.”

Enjolras watches Grantaire watch her walk away, and Enjolras can see what he’s appreciating. Her hips sway while she walks, intentionally provocative as she glances back with coy dark eyes, and that is probably worth watching. So is the way Grantaire twists to watch her, the base of his throat taut and tempting. He turns back to Enjolras fast enough, smiling.

Everyone here is so full of smiles, and _enjoyment_ \- sex is fun. There’s nothing desperate or shameful about it, it’s almost treated like a hobby. Instead of going to Bingo or the gym, they come here and fuck strangers. Or something like strangers. Being on a first name basis implies more of a fuck-buddy relationship between Grantaire and Felicity, at the very least.

“Let’s start small,” Grantaire says, and his thumb is just a complete fucking tease at this point, swiping against Enjolras’ pulse and making it jump just by _looking at him_. “What have you done before?”

“I kissed a guy when I was nineteen,” Enjolras says. And when Grantaire raises an eyebrow, obviously waiting for more, he adds, “I almost kissed a boy when I was sixteen too, but I got distracted. What else-”

“That’s all?” Grantaire demands, and his voice is rough and harsh and he has a firm grip on Enjolras’ neck, thumb forcing him to keep his chin up and looking Grantaire in the eye instead of trying to look away and oh, Enjolras _likes_ that. “You’ve kissed one person however many-”

“Seven years,” Enjolras says.

He doesn’t say anything else because Grantaire makes a strange, wounded noise and uses his grip on Enjolras’ neck to tilt him down for a kiss. It’s _desperate_ , Grantaire’s other hand immediately snapping onto the small of his back and pressing their chests together and Enjolras groans against his mouth. He wants to climb inside Grantaire and rip him apart but instead he just ends up clinging helplessly.

Their lips are dragging together, and Enjolras can barely keep up, he can barely wrap an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders while their mouths clash – he thought that was just a _saying_ , that that was just a thing people say when they’re kissing hard. But now it’s just bashing together desperately, and there’s teeth and tongue and it’s a filthy mess, he just wants _more_. Enjolras ends up biting Grantaire’s lower lip, and then sucking on it, and he can’t keep his eyes closed this time. He watches Grantaire shudder through half-lidded eyes, and has to catch his breath. Enjolras leans his forehead against Grantaire’s and he can’t stop kissing him, he _can’t stop_ , even if it’s just intermittent presses of lips to lips.

“Quick learner,” Grantaire says, fond and heated, and Enjolras has to swallow a lump of absolutely nothing. He starts to move backwards, and Enjolras follows immediately, refusing to give up any territory on Grantaire’s body. Grantaire keeps kissing him, makes a pleased hum-laugh against his lips. His hand drags up and down Enjolras’ spine, slow and lingering. “I’m just finding a place to park, and then this is just.” He lets out an unhealthy laughing noise. “I swear to god you are going to get the best of everything, I’m not letting myself-”

Enjolras cuts him off with another kiss, and his eyes are closed now, every nerve in his body focusing softly on the way Grantaire touches him. They’re moving, and it vaguely reminds Enjolras of dancing, letting himself be lead across the room, in step with Grantaire, never out of contact for too long. But eventually they stop moving, and stop kissing, and Enjolras has to come out of whatever fucked up kiss-induced trance he’s been falling into when Grantaire pulls away to press his lips to Enjolras’ cheek, not his lips. “Come on, sit down,” Grantaire coaxes.

He’s been positioned right in front of what probably began life as a mattress, but has morphed into some sort of clean-lined cushioned table, like some sacrificial sex platform or something. There’s a perfectly fitted pale blue sheet on it and pillows are tossed haphazardly and it’s probably already seen use but Enjolras can’t see any sign of it, and he doesn’t have much time to think about it. Grantaire puts a warm hand on his still-clothed chest and it’s the lightest of pressures, but it’s enough that Enjolras obeys and sits down. It’s soft and comfortable.

He expects Grantaire to follow him down, but instead he stays standing between Enjolras’ legs. And that is promising. Enjolras leans forward, reaching to pull Grantaire forward into another kiss, and Grantaire meets him eagerly. It doesn’t last long, though. They kiss roughly and Grantaire has a hand braced in Enjolras’ hair, fingers caught in curls and tugging just light enough to drive Enjolras insane, but Grantaire doesn’t kiss him.

Grantaire _looks away_. And that isn’t okay, Enjolras doesn’t want that, he ends up wrapping his hand around Grantaire’s wrist and tightening his grip until Grantaire is biting his already-abused lower lip but _still_ looking around at everything not Enjolras.

“Antoine,” Grantaire calls out suddenly, and his voice is still rough and beautiful. The hand in Enjolras’ hair is circling along his scalp, fast and hurried like he doesn’t know how to stop moving, but the other is held up in greeting. “Hey, Antoine! I need a favor!”

The man that walks over is probably Antoine. He looks like an Italian underwear model devoted to polo, a sophisticated level of hot that is so _crisp_ that Enjolras thinks the man could probably be covered in filth and still seem vaguely aloof. He’s completely naked, but somehow Enjolras still feels underdressed. “Are you serious?” Antoine asks, sounding absolutely thrilled. “You’re willing to owe me a favor in return?”

“If you think this isn’t favor enough, there is something _very_ wrong with you,” Grantaire says, eyes _finally_ back on Enjolras. “Enjolras, meet Antoine. He’s a professional pianist. Antoine, meet Enjolras. He’s a virgin.”

“My word,” Antoine says. He’s looking Enjolras over, but Enjolras isn’t looking away from Grantaire, and Grantaire isn’t looking anywhere else.

Enjolras wants to rip Grantaire’s pants off. Instead, he slides forward just enough for Grantaire to get the idea, and then he doesn’t have to do anything beyond look at Grantaire’s lips for the other man to be kissing him again. It’s hard and their noses are bumping against each other and Enjolras doesn’t care at all. He gives in to instinct and slides a hand down Grantaire’s skin and lets a finger flirt beneath the fly of Grantaire’s jeans. It doesn’t have the desired effect, though – Grantaire jerks back and stumbles, and he looks away. Again.

“Right,” Grantaire says, firm. “I want him to have the best, and you’re the best-”

“Say no more,” Antoine says airily, smiling at Grantaire. When he turns back to Enjolras, it turns into more of a smirk. “Although I think you’d better keep kissing him, he looks a little bit pouty now.”

“Right. I should get Viveca too,” Grantaire says, and he looks about ready to leave. Enjolras is about ready to lunge forward and toss Grantaire onto the fucking mattress with him, fuck whoever Viveca is, but Antoine laughs, loud and thrilled, and that keeps him still.

“You’re a good kisser, Grantaire, sit down and take care of your boy,” Antoine says, and flexes his fingers at Enjolras, still smirking. “He’ll need something to hold on to. Just hands?”

Grantaire looks torn for a moment, and clears his throat. “Give us a moment.”

Antoine shrugs, and steps over to the nearby wall, remorselessly watching them.

“Just,” Grantaire begins, and he’s staring into Enjolras’ eyes again, cheeks flushing for some reason. “Okay, you can always say no, or stop, or slow down-”

“I know that,” Enjolras says. It’s delivered smoothly, effortlessly, but his voice sounds foreign and rough to his own ears. He likes it. From the way Grantaire’s breath sharpens, he does too. Enjolras slides forward enough that what was once Grantaire standing over Enjolras is now Enjolras loosely wrapping his legs around Grantaire’s waist and making him bend down sharply for a long, thorough kiss. He doesn’t give in this time, though. Enjolras snaps away, and grabs Grantaire’s hair sharply, making him gasp. His eyes fucking _flutter_ , and yes, that was an excellent decision. “I need to undress.”

Grantaire doesn’t even try to get Enjolras’ hand to move, or to even loosen. He stays exactly in place, and his stunningly clever fingers are quickly undoing his pants, but it’s not _fast enough_. He ends up adding his own fingers into the equation but then he just ends up panting against Grantaire’s mouth as their fingers keep brushing against each other and teasing his still-clothed cock, tantalizing him with what’s about to come and teasing him completely accidentally at first but Grantaire just _keeps doing it_.

But then Antoine says, “Allow me.” He’s standing behind Grantaire, and Grantaire wasn’t joking about his fingers. He only needs three fingers to unbutton Enjolras’ jeans and unzip the fly, another two to hook into his pants and drag them down, leaving his underwear on for some reason. His cock looks completely obscene beneath the fabric. Antoine makes a please noise, and warns, “Last chance.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathes, and then pulls away, face bright red and he’s not looking at Enjolras again. Or Antoine. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, and says, “Fuck. Okay. Lubrication.”

“Very good excuse,” Antoine says dryly.

Enjolras barely hears him because Grantaire dives down to kneel on the floor, inelegantly yanking Enjolras’ underwear _barely_ out of the way, just enough to free his cock, and that’s all Enjolras manages to see before Grantaire makes a desperate noise and grabs onto Enjolras’ hips and fucking dives onto Enjolras’ cock, mouth stretched impossibly wide. His lips are red and bruised from kissing Enjolras, and they’re suddenly wrapped around his cock and Enjolras lets out a breathless shout. That same kindergarten impulse comes back and Enjolras smacks a hand over his own mouth, staring.

Grantaire just _kneels_ there, holding Enjolras’ cock in his mouth. He doesn’t suck. He doesn’t lick. He doesn’t fucking move. He just _whines_ , gripping Enjolras’ hips hard enough to hurt, and it’s the only thing that keeps Enjolras from thrusting into his mouth as hard and violently as possible. Grantaire looks like he’s in physical pain, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and then his tongue presses right against the tip of Enjolras’ cock. Enjolras moans and his fingers grip even tighter in his hair and there is no word for the noise Grantaire makes at that. It’s the sound of someone’s last gasp before drowning, water-clogged and desperate, and Enjolras feels every vibration of it on his painfully hard cock.

Grantaire wrenches away, breathing harshly and letting out a shout at how Enjolras’ grip on his hair keeps him from doing it painlessly. It keeps Grantaire from running, keeps him from leaving or getting more than an arm’s reach away, which is _good_. Grantaire swallows, and stares some more, and says, “Okay. Antoine. If you’d be so kind, I’d like you to give him the handjob of a lifetime.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Antoine says, and pulls a chair over from the wall, sitting in front of Enjolras and grinning. Enjolras is more concerned with the way Grantaire is sitting a cautious distance away, but still leaning into the hand Enjolras has running through his hair. Antoine notices too. “I have a feeling you aren’t the virgin he thinks you are.”

“Virgin implies innocence,” Enjolras says roughly, and that’s all he can manage, because Antoine’s thumb is swirling around the head of Enjolras’ cock, easily spreading Grantaire’s saliva like he does it every fucking day. He looks completely disinterested in what his fingers are doing, instead watching Enjolras’ face as he spirals his thumb almost tauntingly down Enjolras’ cock, and then grabs him so roughly that Enjolras shouts, hands digging into the sheets, and _it just gets better_. He doesn’t know if he likes it rough or smooth or if it feels this good because it’s someone else’s hand instead of his own for once, but he’s gasping.

And Grantaire is suddenly there, bare chest pressed against his still-clothed side and whispering into Enjolras’ hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay, see? Isn’t it good?” he asks, and Enjolras moans again, nodding, because Antoine is _very fucking talented_ , fingers playing Enjolras’ nerves just as adeptly as he would a piano. Antoine has him exactly where he wants him, and Enjolras glares the fuck out of him, fighting to breathe. Grantaire kisses along Enjolras’ jawline, and then his lips starts slowly moving down his neck, still talking. “Come on, Enjolras, it’s okay. Breathe for me.”

He tries to obey, but he ends up sounding like he’s hyperventilating until Grantaire wraps his arms around him, presses their chests together sharply, and takes a long, deep breath in. Enjolras follows his example. When Grantaire exhales, he breathes against Enjolras’ collarbone, and Enjolras exhales sharper than Grantaire wants. He gets a reward, though – Grantaire kisses him softly, and Antoine is apparently getting tired of Enjolras’ pathetic inability to breathe because he speeds his hand up, strokes tight and twisting and firm and Enjolras groans into Grantaire’s mouth.

Grantaire pulls away. His eyes are closed, and he runs his fingers down Enjolras’ cheek. “Do you want to come?” he asks.

Enjolras _really really does_ , but he shakes his head, almost violently, a desperate negative plea. “No. No no no, not from this, not just-”

“Antoine,” Grantaire says simply, nothing sharp about it, and Antoine backs off immediately. Enjolras lets out a relieved sigh, but it’s more like a gasping exhalation.

“You’re very possessive tonight,” Antoine says, and Enjolras wants to tear his head off but Grantaire laughs against Enjolras’ shoulder. It’s strangely bitter. “I do believe I’m going to ask for that favor.”

“Fair enough,” Grantaire says, and he removes Enjolras’ hand from his hair, which is. _No._ But Enjolras can’t do anything but watch, though, as Grantaire twists around to press his lips against Antoine’s perfect underwear model chest. His hand slides down Antoine’s body to lightly toy with Antoine’s cock. “Has anyone fucked you?”

“Are you offering?” Antoine says. He sounds excited and pleasantly surprised.

“I might be,” Grantaire says, like he’s admitting something shameful. “Not right now, though.”

“ _That_ , I can wait for,” Antoine says, grinning, and he leans down to kiss Grantaire lightly for a moment before walking off, and Enjolras barely keeps himself from lunging forward and dragging Grantaire away.

It’s ridiculous, it is completely ridiculous how desperately he wants to just _keep him_. That’s not even touching how jealous he’s getting, which is _even more_ ridiculous, considering where he is and what they are and the fact he’s known Grantaire for probably less than an hour.

This was supposed to just be attractive flesh with no personalities, moving from one person to another and no…no _Grantaire_. No wondering if he can just wrap Grantaire up in silk rope and steal him and keep him safe and begging in his bedroom for as long as they can survive without food or water. Which is probably kind of creepy. At the very least he wants to shove Grantaire against a wall and fuck him senseless and bite his neck so hard it bleeds but also _make love_ with him, softly sliding against satin and watching the light in his eyes as he falls apart.

Instead, Enjolras is getting a fucking hit parade tonight, and he has absolutely no right to ask that of Grantaire. He _aches_ for something more than this, but if kisses and whispers and one brief moment in the wet heat of his mouth is all Grantaire is willing to provide, Enjolras will gladly accept.

But Antoine is gone, and Grantaire remains. He’s vaguely slouched near the edge of the mattress, and Enjolras tries to get control of himself again while he watches Grantaire sag closer and closer to where Enjolras’ knees hang off of the side. “I’m going to take your shoes off,” Grantaire says, voice low and firm, and Enjolras tries to help by pulling his feet up onto the bed, but apparently that’s not what Grantaire wants.

What started as Grantaire sagging over Enjolras’ knees smoothly shifts into Grantaire kneeling between Enjolras’ spread legs, facing away, and then he’s bending at the waist. Enjolras can feel him making quick work of his shoelaces. Enjolras isn’t exactly in this position very often, but the way Grantaire’s naked back flexes in the move and the amazing view it gives him of Grantaire’s ass seems like pure showmanship. It has to be, it _must_ be, Enjolras isn’t just imagining this.

He takes a deep breath and very, very carefully puts his hands on Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire’s skin is hot and soft and Enjolras couldn’t keep his hands still if he even wanted. He does make it slow in case he _is_ misreading this, but from the way Grantaire shudders at the swipe of his thumb against his flushed skin, he really, really isn’t. Enjolras lets himself be a little more adventurous, and carefully leans forward. He means to just touch, maybe kiss, but something in his brain just _explodes_ and he ends up biting at the waist of Grantaire’s pants, nose pressing hard against Grantaire’s spine.

Grantaire exhales sharply, and the fingers sliding is socks off stutter against his ankles. He watches Grantaire freeze, breath painfully controlled, and Enjolras smiles. It might be a smirk, because he’s suddenly flooded with smug burning _passion_ and he thinks that yes, he can do this at least. He doesn’t have much time because Grantaire’s fingers are almost as talented as that _fucking pianist’s_ , so he snags Grantaire’s waistband firmly between his teeth and drags his hands to Grantaire’s fly and he has two hands, he can manage this easily, it’s practically like undoing his own pants.

Enjolras is right-handed, and suddenly that makes him _furious_ because he has to focus on getting a hand on Grantaire’s cock and also pulling his pants off and he doesn’t know where to commit his dominant hand. He goes with his immediate lust-filled reaction and his hand cups Grantaire’s cock tightly, pressing against him almost protectively (as fucked up as that sounds) while he uses his teeth and left hand to drag Grantaire’s pants down to his thighs. It’s _fast_ , and Grantaire gasps, says, “Oh my god, I did not expect that.”

“Lean back, I want your pants off,” Enjolras says. He wants Grantaire’s pants off, and he wants Grantaire pressed against his chest. He wants to bite at Grantaire’s neck, wants to leave purple bruises and teeth marks so high no scarf could hide them. He wants it really, really bad, which is _horrible_ , and Enjolras has control of himself. He does. Grantaire isn’t moving though, so Enjolras moves the hand cupping Grantaire’s cock, just enough to shift skin but not enough to actually make him gasp. It’s just enough for Enjolras to be sure Grantaire is _very_ aware of what Enjolras is doing.

“Your pants, Grantaire,” Enjolras says again, and he barely recognizes his own voice.

“Jesus,” Grantaire breathes out, and there’s shaking fingers dropping Enjolras’ shoes and socks onto the floor and then he obeys. He does it in one smooth bend, going from leaning over the edge to pressing against Enjolras’ chest, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate. Grantaire is pulling his own pants off, and Enjolras starts moving his hand, stroking Grantaire lightly, feeling him shake against him. “Come on, Enjolras, I have _plans_ , this is – it’s supposed to be special for you, _Jesus_ , okay, your technique is absolute shit but my body really doesn’t care, so I need you to stop.”

Enjolras does so immediately, hands jerking away from Grantaire, and he’d move away if he could but Grantaire is leaning heavily against his chest, the back of his head resting against Enjolras’ shoulder. He’s looking up at Enjolras, meeting his eyes, and he looks about five breaths away from panting, just from Enjolras’ pathetic attempt at a handjob.

“Okay, I need to,” Grantaire says, and stops to shut his eyes, swallow, and take a deep breath. “Right. Women. I know you weren’t violently objecting to Felicity but she kind of jumped you, so-”

“I want to fuck you,” Enjolras says instead. Because honesty is really fucking important.

“Oh Jesus,” Grantaire says, and shuts his eyes. “Do you. Do you _want_ to try?”

“Yes I do,” Enjolras says, not quite sure what he’s even saying, but he will try anything if it keeps Grantaire here. He has his nose pressed into Grantaire’s hair and he can smell sweat and some sort of citrus-scented shampoo. “Just stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Grantaire promises, and moves his hands behind him so they have a hold of Enjolras’ jeans. He pulls them off while Enjolras lifts his hips, not-so-accidentally sliding his cock against Grantaire’s tailbone in the process. He watches Grantaire swallow, and wants to feel him do it, wants to have his lips pressed against the pale skin of his throat the next time he shakes.

Grantaire doesn’t let him, though. He clears his throat and stands, pushes their now-removed pants under the bed in the process. And then he’s ignoring Enjolras again, waving at a now-familiar figure. Enjolras doesn’t hate Felicity. He would prefer she _not_ be between him and Grantaire, but if someone has to be, Felicity is as good as anyone else. Felicity waves back eagerly from where she’s currently chatting with another woman, talking casually like they’re just out at dinner instead of surrounded by people fucking like their lives depend on it, and quickly walks over.

“Ooh, do I get to play?” Felicity asks eagerly.

“It’s up to him,” Grantaire says. He’s smiling, but it’s a hollow-looking smile. Felicity doesn’t seem to notice. “I was hoping you’d be his willing female experimentation phase.”

It makes her laugh, but she smiles at Enjolras pleasantly. “I’d be honored,” she says, more teasing than anything else. “Where should we start, hmm?”

She’s obviously asking Grantaire, but Grantaire doesn’t answer. He just looks at Enjolras, expecting something. When Enjolras doesn’t give him whatever it is, Grantaire slides back onto the bed and says, “I guess he fucks you and-”

“I want to blow him,” Felicity declares, and is grinning at Enjolras. “That okay with you, new kid?”

Enjolras is probably at least two years older than her.

But he still wants _Grantaire_ \- the five seconds of gorgeous wet heat and Grantaire looking so fucking desperate for it plagues his memory, and he wants that again. And Enjolras is starting to figure out how this works – he gets what he asks for. Well, unless he’s asking to fuck Grantaire. So Enjolras assumes there’s a _very_ reasonable addendum that he can ask for whatever he wants, so long as it’s been offered.

_But Grantaire’s going to fuck the pianist asshole_ , Enjolras’ very helpful mind supplies cheerily, and he assumes that’s why he opens his mouth and says, “I want Grantaire too.”

“Of course you do,” Felicity says, and laughs in absolute delight while Grantaire just _stares_ at him. “God, just wait ‘til Grantaire lets his vicious slut side out, I’m kind of shocked he hasn’t yet.”

“I’m his escort for the evening, thank you very much,” Grantaire says, and glances from Enjolras to scan around the room. “Let me just-”

“Looking for an anchor?” Felicity asks, and Grantaire nods. “Probably a good idea. I saw Gwen in room C, I could-”

“I want Will,” Grantaire says.

Felicity’s eyebrows rise. “He’s a little bit _occupied_ at the moment. If you want to try and steal him from Julio, by all means, good luck.”

Grantaire nods, and he doesn’t even say goodbye, he just gets up and leaves Enjolras all alone wearing nothing but his shirt and staring at Grantaire’s retreating back while Felicity laughs softly. She gives Enjolras some sort of conspiratorial grin and sprawls herself across the bed, situated just close enough that their thighs are pressed against each other.

“He really likes you,” Felicity comments, teasing. “And I think _someone_ might be developing a crush, hmm?”

Something in Enjolras’ chest twists, and fuck, he starts blushing. He’s currently sprawled on a bed in the middle of some sort of casual happy-go-lucky orgy with kiss-swollen lips while he’s hard and aching in nothing but a button-down shirt that’s already mostly undone with a woman wearing a transparent nightdress who tried to suck his cock through his jeans about five seconds after he walked through the door. And yet, _this_ is what makes him blush.

“He might go for it,” Felicity comments. “You should ask him out.”

Enjolras clears his throat, and tries to find his way back to the Enjolras who is not currently straining to spot his favorite member of a sex club in a mass of writhing bodies. “I’m losing my virginity in a sex club for a reason,” he says.

“And he fucks people in a sex club for a reason. We all do,” Felicity says, and shrugs. “But eventually, people don’t need to come here anymore.” Enjolras frowns at her, not quite sure what she’s getting at. It makes her roll her eyes, and her smile gets weirdly soft. “There’s sex, and then there’s _sex_.”

Which makes no fucking sense, but whatever. Grantaire is already walking back, this time with two other men in tow and Jesus, how many people is Enjolras going to have to fight his way through to get to Grantaire? The taller of them men looks like a redheaded Viking, if said Viking was absolutely thrilled to be completely owned by a bored-looking Asian man.

The bored-looking Asian man is named Julio, the Viking is named Will, and Julio doesn’t even do more than _frown_ at Enjolras for a moment before sitting on the corner of the mattress and then patting the bed so Will is on it too. It all seems completely bizarre, and Grantaire looks vaguely stricken, looking from Enjolras to Will and back and finally says, “You’ll take care of him.”

“Come _on_ , Grantaire,” Felicity says, full of affectionate exasperation, and tugs Grantaire down with her until they’re both kneeling in front of Enjolras. Will’s hand carefully runs through Enjolras’ hair, but he barely pays attention because Grantaire is looking up at him with wide eyes, holding up a hand towards Felicity, cheeks flushing as she laughs lightly. Grantaire’s eyes are just painfully bright with _resolve_.

Enjolras knows it’s coming. He knows it is, but Grantaire grabs his hips and breathes with closed eyes for a moment and then delicately wraps his lips around the tip of Enjolras’ cock, and Enjolras _still_ ends up gasping. Grantaire pulls away after only a moment, but only for a moment. Enjolras expects some sort of lull or a break or _something_ , but Grantaire pulls away for a breath’s length and then dives down, fast and hard and moaning, like he _needs_ to be gagging, and suddenly Enjolras is very glad the Viking is there with him because Will says, “ _Breathe_ ,” and Enjolras tries to remember how.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, _look at you_ ,” Enjolras ends up saying instead of breathing, hand tangling its way into Grantaire’s hair, and Grantaire pulls off to press his lips against the inside of his thigh, eyes closed. And apparently that’s Felicity’s opportunity, since she grins at him and takes over and Enjolras is having trouble breathing again because she just keeps swallowing and swallowing and _swallowing_ until his cock is hitting the back of her throat and she’s fucking humming around him and it’s obscene. It’s completely filthy and Enjolras realizes for a moment that Grantaire’s saliva is probably in her mouth along with Enjolras’ cock and he lets out a high whine for some reason, tugging sharply on Grantaire’s hair.

“You have to tell him what you want,” the other man – Julio? – says, and Will is holding onto Enjolras like he’s a stuffed animal, keeps whispering _breathe, come on, it’s okay_. It takes effort for Enjolras to tear his eyes away and try to look at Julio, who sighs, and points down at Grantaire, and _oh_. Felicity sucks _hard_ , and Will has to hold him down when he finds himself trying to arch into her mouth.

He thinks about telling Grantaire what to do and it’s amazing but not appropriate, he doesn’t get to do that, so he just moves his hand from Grantaire’s hair to slide down his cheekbones and practically shoves his index finger between Grantaire’s all-too-willing lips, fuck, he’s _so_ willing, Enjolras gives him another and he takes it eagerly. Felicity pulls off of his cock, and Enjolras tries to breathe again, and it’s painfully difficult to concentrate on anything beyond the way Felicity is running her tongue up and down his cock and how watching Grantaire swallow his fingers down lets him think so very easily that his mouth is Felicity’s.

“You can do it,” Will says easily, and Enjolras tries to frown at him, tries to ask what the fuck he’s talking about, but he couldn’t look away if death itself demanded it. Will has told him to breathe and relax and he is now saying Enjolras can do _something_ but fuck if he knows what it is. He likes to think that maybe the thing he can do is fuck Grantaire, because he’d really like to do that. Felicity’s painfully talented tongue leaves his hips writhing off of the bed even if he doesn’t want them to. “He wants you to tell him, I promise.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras breathes out, and Felicity moves away to catch her breath, which seems like the perfect opportunity for some reason. He doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s doing beyond that he says, “Get up here, _now_ ,” and Grantaire does, nearly tripping over his own legs in his haste to oblige. Will immediately makes room for him, and Felicity just waits, obviously intrigued, and Enjolras doesn’t even know what he really wants. Just following his first instinct seems to have worked well though, so he points at the mattress directly next to himself and says, “I want.” He pauses and removes his fingers from Grantaire’s clinging lips, and clears his throat before he tries again. “Grantaire, I want you to kneel here for me.”

Grantaire looks torn. “But-”

“ _Do it_ ,” Enjolras says, because he really fucking means it all of a sudden, and Grantaire obeys immediately, even if he looks stunned and confused. Which is fine. He won’t be for long. Enjolras ends up laughing for a moment, though, because he really has no idea what he’s doing. He leans his forehead against Grantaire’s hip, and Grantaire gasps, because he’s figured it out, almost at the same time as Enjolras.

“Never teeth at any time,” Felicity calls out cheerily.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras hasn’t even touched his cock. He’s going to, though. Enjolras is going to start very small, because he doesn’t want to fuck this up, he’s heard horror stories and refuses to be a shudder-worthy anecdote for Grantaire to tell in the morning. The very concept has him almost growling, because fuck no, this means something, he doesn’t give a shit about anything else beyond that Grantaire doesn’t just _laugh_ or regret it or, worst of all, even forget Enjolras was here.

“Go slow,” Julio calls out, voice farther away. Will isn’t there anymore, either.

Enjolras goes slow. He starts with a long, slow lick, and does it again, carefully moving his lips against Grantaire’s cock while his tongue moves. He’s careful, tasting Grantaire and listening to the choked-off noises he’s failing to keep back. He doesn’t like that, so he pulls away to frown up at Grantaire and say, “I want to hear you.”

“I’m going to humiliate myself,” Grantaire blurts out, and then takes a deep breath. “But. Like a progress report. That makes sense.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, but he is _incredibly_ hot. I am getting a leg over this man before he’s taken forever, I’ll regret it the rest of my life if I don’t even try,” Felicity suddenly says.

“Fuck, don’t say it like that, I’m already going insane,” Grantaire says, and pulls away, sitting down instead of kneeling as requested. But he does it to pull Enjolras forward in a quick heated kiss, which Enjolras is _very_ happy about. He gets a handful of hair again, and keeps Grantaire there with him until he’s satisfied.

Nobody else is touching Enjolras. Nothing’s touching him but the bed and Grantaire’s lips and one of his cautious hands resting lightly on his shoulder, like he’s ready to be shrugged off at any moment, and it’s amazing.

Grantaire’s mouth pulls away, though, and Enjolras lets him – they’re only human, regrettably. Humans need to breathe. He presses his forehead against Enjolras’ and asks, “Do you want to fuck Felicity?”

“I want to fuck _you_ ,” Enjolras says again.

Another hand is on his shoulder suddenly, and Enjolras twists in surprise to see Felicity smiling at him. “I can guarantee you’ll have that opportunity later,” she says. “You can definitely say no, but I’d _really_ like it. Please?”

Enjolras has little to no inclination to fuck Felicity but she is nice and Enjolras is more than a little punch-happy at the moment, feels like he’s flying and Grantaire’s looking at him expectantly. Enjolras is starting to think Grantaire just doesn’t want Enjolras to fuck him, which is. Well, it’s kind of soul-crushingly disappointing, but he does seem to want anything and everything else, which is _not_. And Grantaire leans forward to kiss him again, and Enjolras wants to do nothing else, but Felicity looks expectant.

“It’ll feel fantastic,” Grantaire whispers against his cheek. “And you can always say stop, and I’ll be here, nothing’s going to-”

“Yes,” Enjolras says, pulling Grantaire’s chest tight against his own – still clothed. Enjolras tries to unbutton his shirt, and it’s painfully difficult, a thousand times more complicated than their fucking pants were. He expects Grantaire to help, or _something_ , but instead Grantaire is holding Enjolras’ head, a hand on either cheek, staring intently into his eyes. Enjolras frowns. “What-”

“I want to see,” Grantaire breathes out, and Enjolras couldn’t look anywhere else if he tried. He gives up on his stupid fucking shirt and thoughtlessly ends up tracing fingers down Grantaire’s heat-flushed cheeks, feeling his sex-damp skin.

It’s not _sudden_ , or even unexpected, but Enjolras grabs a painfully tight handful of Grantaire’s hair and gasps like he has a punctured lung when Felicity lowers herself onto his cock. She’s slick and soft and tight and hot and he can’t fucking breathe, ends up panting and arching even when he’s doing absolutely none of the work. It’s slow, agonizingly so, and Enjolras doesn’t care if Grantaire is watching his face like it’s a life or death situation, he wants to kiss him so bad he aches. He wants to tell him, but his attempts end as nothing but choked exhalations of Grantaire’s name.

“Oh fuck, fuck, Enjolras, you are so perfect,” Grantaire says, and his voice is high and desperate and Enjolras moans and just drags his mouth down with the ruthless grip he has on Grantaire’s hair. Felicity might be riding his cock, faster and faster, but Enjolras doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’s really having sex with Grantaire, and their kiss is sloppy and deep. Enjolras can’t catch his breath for long enough to try and make it anything more than wanting to breathe the same air as Grantaire. “You make it so hard to be good, oh my god, I want to keep you.”

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” Enjolras bites out, and his body just automatically starts fucking sharply into Felicity. He can hear her gasp but he really does not care because Grantaire’s getting there, he’s going to say it, _they’re going there_. He bites at Grantaire’s jaw and lets himself talk, lets himself say, “I want to fuck you in my own bed, I want that so bad, Grantaire.”

Grantaire is jerking off, getting off on kissing Enjolras breathless as someone else fucks him, and it’s almost enough but not _quite_. Enjolras doesn’t even know what the fuck that means, but he pulls his mouth away and fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. Grantaire finally realizes what Enjolras is trying to do and lets go of his own cock to try and help Enjolras’ pleasure-heavy fingers. It’s a slow, shaky process, and Enjolras squeezes his eyes shut and Felicity is panting above him and Enjolras doesn’t even know what he’s doing, but he suddenly doesn’t want this. He grabs onto Grantaire’s shoulder and says, “Stop. _Stop_.”

And it does. Grantaire had unbuttoned most of Enjolras’ shirt and is kneeling a cautious distance away, and Felicity is standing a little shakily at the edge of the mattress, and Enjolras tries to catch his breath. “Thank you,” Enjolras says.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asks, and the amount of concern in his eyes is almost painful. The way his hand jerks towards him only to pull back quickly is _definitely_ painful.

The world seems vaguely tingly, and Enjolras nods, but tries to figure out what the fuck made him suddenly _need_ it to stop. He sits up, legs crossed on the mattress while he thinks and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. His shirt’s practically hanging off of him at this point, and Enjolras thinks about just pulling it off, but Grantaire is looking at him like he’s completely enthralled with the sight of him, so he leaves it. And Grantaire is _not_ the problem. Everything felt fine, but.

Ah.

Enjolras clears his throat and says, “I think I’m gay.”

Felicity leans forward to press a kiss to Enjolras’ cheek before winking. “Thanks for the fun, then. You guys are great together.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, vaguely surprised at how simple it is to watch her leave, almost fondly.

Enjolras remembers that he has to tell people what he wants, and Grantaire doesn’t sound like he would mind what Enjolras wants all that much really – and if Grantaire doesn’t want Enjolras to fuck him that is fine and he isn’t going to push for it no matter how desperately he wants that. He turns to look Grantaire straight in the eye. “I want to have sex with you. _Just_ you, in private. And _with_ you, instead of you trying to drive me crazy while I just sit back. Would you be okay with that?”

Absently, Enjolras realizes he’s pretty much asking permission to have the most conventional vanilla sex possible. He’ll think about that another time, because Grantaire is staring at him, looking very confused.

“You’re losing your virginity at a sex club,” Grantaire says, and yes, that’s a good reason to be confused. People who make a decision like this don’t just up and decide to choose the easier and socially acceptable path, particularly after all of this that he’s already done. It would’ve been very, very easy to just keep going. People like Enjolras don’t change their mind like this. Not unless there’s a reason for it.

Enjolras has a reason.

He leans forward to kiss Grantaire softly, _sweetly_ , before pulling back to smile. “I’m losing my virginity with you.”

“Oh god,” Grantaire says, looking completely desperate, like he’s going to _die_ , and that isn’t exactly what Enjolras was expecting. He wraps a hand in the fabric of Enjolras’ much-abused shirt, but doesn’t move beyond that, just staring at Enjolras with wide eyes. “You should know that I am incredibly fucked up and will be horrible for you. I am a terrible idea.”

Intellectually, Enjolras is pretty much screaming the same exact thing. He believes in individual liberty almost violently, but that doesn’t mean others do. He’s had to learn how to play the game if he wants to make any sort of difference in the world, and Enjolras knows that if he does this, Grantaire isn’t going to be a one night thing. He is going to be a many night thing. And maybe, if he’s lucky, an every night thing.

Fuck the game. He wants Grantaire.

He thinks about telling Grantaire that when he first saw him it felt like being punched in the face with _want_ , or that he’s the most beautiful thing Enjolras has ever seen, or that he’s been imagining that every single touch tonight has been his. Instead, he says, “But you’re _my_ terrible idea.”

Grantaire laughs, and it sounds vaguely unhealthy, but he kisses Enjolras again and is pulling him to his feet and through the atrium towards a series of doors. Even in motion, Enjolras can tell his hand is shaking. “Okay, heads up, I am going to ask you on a date, and other heads up, I’m a recovering alcoholic, and if you had a third head I would tell you I’ve been ‘recovering’ probably four times now.”

“You’re a fucking press nightmare,” Enjolras says, and he just has to push Grantaire against the nearest wall and kiss him. He is physically incapable of _not_ kissing Grantaire, and from the way Grantaire surges forward to meet him, it’s a mutual thing. It’s hard and rough and Enjolras didn’t mean for it to be this way but Grantaire is whining into his mouth and their teeth clack together awkwardly and Enjolras’ nose is smashed against Grantaire’s face and it’s _glorious_.

It doesn’t last long, though – Enjolras just had to kiss him before he died from wanting him, and their targeted door is open and waiting just a few feet away. Inside, the room is everything the atrium wasn’t – the walls are a dark tile, the bed has dark sheets, and the room is almost claustrophobic. Even the lighting is different, and it’s the first time Enjolras really feels like he’s in some sort of secret orgy palace. He slams the door shut behind him with quick kick of his foot, and they’re _alone_.

“What do you want?” Grantaire says, practically babbles out, one hand pressed against Enjolras’ thigh while the other slides into Enjolras’ vaguely-buttoned shirt. “Do you want to fuck me, I remember you did, but you’re a virgin and that isn’t really a good first-time thing because it takes prep and-”

“I really want to fuck you,” Enjolras says, and leans down to nip at Grantaire’s jaw. “But you’re the guide.”

“You can definitely fuck the guide, I’m just warning you it isn’t going to be that great because you’re a virgin,” Grantaire says, and separates from Enjolras to pull open the desk drawer (which Enjolras suddenly realizes is there _just so people can fuck on a desk_ ) and pull out a packet of lube. “So if you’re okay with your first time being not that great I am just fine with that.”

Enjolras clears his throat and tries to think like a reasonable human being. He remembers that back when everyone was having sex for the first time and he was out leading protests, it was generally considered pretty fucking normal to have an awkward, if not completely bad, first time. On one hand, it would probably not be good for either of them, and it’d be spectacular if he managed to somehow blow Grantaire’s mind in bed (unlikely). On the other, _he really really wants to fuck Grantaire_.

“On the bed, then,” Grantaire says, lips quirked into a smile and obviously reading the decision on Enjolras’ face before Enjolras had even been aware he made it. Grantaire follows him down until they’re face to face and Enjolras is leaning against the headboard while Grantaire straddles his hips. There’s something incredibly filthy about how casual he manages to make it look, and it gets even worse when Grantaire opens the lube with a rip of fingers and teeth. “Okay, let me see your hands. Which hand is dominant?”

Enjolras has no idea what that’s for, but he obliges, holding up both hands. “I’m right-handed.”

Grantaire looks at them intently, almost businesslike, and shakes his head. “You have _very_ long fingernails. You can learn by example,” he says, and puts a generous amount of lube on his own fingers. He suddenly pauses, eyeing Enjolras. “Then again, you’re pretty knowledgeable for a virgin. Do you-”

“Yes, I do,” Enjolras says, already starting to get impatient because yes, please, he wants to fuck Grantaire so badly he’s going to explode. “I don’t do anything other than fingers, and I don’t do it often, but I can and do finger myself, are you just tormenting me?”

“There might be a little bit of teasing,” Grantaire admits, grinning, and Enjolras can tease. He knows how that’s done. He puts a dollop of lube on his own fingers and, when Grantaire’s eyes go wide, he spreads it over Grantaire’s cock and starts stroking him. It makes Grantaire let out a strange laugh-sigh, kissing him breathless before pulling away to concentrate more closely.

Enjolras wants to watch Grantaire stretch himself, but watching his face is probably just as fascinating. His eyes are half-lidded on the first finger, his mouth slightly parted at the second. Enjolras strokes him smooth and slow throughout, and listens to the way he pants and moans. Enjolras can’t look away. He gives in and kisses Grantaire, and he doesn’t want to get in the way but he reaches back and wraps his hand around Grantaire’s as he rocks back and forth on his fingers.

“You know, I was fifteen,” Grantaire says, words rushing over themselves as he chokes them out. When Enjolras raises a questioning eyebrow, Grantaire continues. “My first time. I was fifteen. And it was _horrible_ , and you don’t deserve horrible.” He groans, and leans down to press his forehead against Enjolras’ collarbone. “Fuck, I want this to be so good for you.”

“It will be,” Enjolras says, and speeds his hand up just enough that Grantaire jerks into a more upright position and shudders, and it’s absolutely beautiful. “Jesus, please tell me you’ve been fucked in front of a mirror.”

“I have had a lot of sex, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, breathless.

Enjolras leans forward and kisses him as thoroughly as he can manage when Grantaire can barely breathe already. It’s short, and Enjolras concentrates on assaulting Grantaire’s neck. “Not with me, you haven’t,” Enjolras says, and tightens his grip. Grantaire moans, and Enjolras ends up smiling into his skin. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh god,” Grantaire says, and pulls his fingers out, fumbling with the lube and suddenly reminding Enjolras of harried interns on their first day, so Enjolras carefully catches Grantaire’s chin in his hand, forcing Grantaire to look at him. He’s panting and looking more than a little bit desperately aroused, which is just so very pretty. “Okay, logistically we are going hands and knees, it’s easiest, kneel up before I die.”

Enjolras is definitely okay with doing that, and it’s a harried frenzy of positioning that he hopes will keep Grantaire from seeing his hands are fucking shaking and he is just a complete mess because it’s happening, and Jesus, he’s going to fuck up isn’t he. It’s so stupid, how do you even mess up having sex, and he can’t see Grantaire’s face. Enjolras slides his hands up Grantaire’s ribs, and down his spine, and tries to read the shudders of his skin as he finally lets his hands rest on his hips, and his ass, and fuck, he is going to fuck up and this is actually happening and he bends down to kiss between Grantaire’s shoulder blades.

“Did you miss the part where I’m dying?” Grantaire asks, voice high and urgent, and rocks back against Enjolras. “Come _on_ , Enjolras, if you have performance anxiety or something, trust me, this isn’t going to last long _at all_. The only thing keeping me from being embarrassed is knowing that we’re both going to be embarrassed.”

That gets a muffled huff of laughter into Grantaire’s skin, and he tries to take a deep breath and calm down. He keeps his forehead pressed to Grantaire’s back, and says, “If I hurt you-”

“Oh my god, _come on_ ,” Grantaire snaps, and fuck, Enjolras is blushing and now it is a good thing that Grantaire can’t see him. “People have survived sex for thousands of years, Enjolras, your dick isn’t _that_ special.”

Enjolras laughs, and any and all doubt about Grantaire being a worthwhile risk vanishes just because he is so fucking ridiculous and gorgeous and his mouth is fantastic for much more than sex. Whatever chemical factory in his brain it was that decided to explode when he saw Grantaire chose wisely. He doesn’t really need to, but Enjolras quickly slicks some lube on his cock as he very carefully lines himself up and tries to think around the _oh my god oh my god oh my god_ that seems to be swallowing his brain whole. “Okay,” he breathes out, and very carefully thrusts forward and _fuck_ , it’s amazing.

“I swear to god I can take it, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, but his words are shaky again. Enjolras isn’t even halfway in, still gripping Grantaire’s hips so tightly he might bruise as he tries to breathe. Felicity wasn’t like this, wasn’t like this at all, because _this is Grantaire_ , dear god – the thought alone makes him have to fight that same stupid fucking urge to clamp a hand over his mouth. “Come on, Enjolras. Please.”

Grantaire sounds far too composed for Enjolras’ liking, and somehow that manages to help him focus on doing more than gasping. It’s excruciatingly good when he’s completely inside of Grantaire, hips flush with his absolutely glorious ass, and Grantaire groans. It’s beautiful. “I knew this would be good, fuck, I wanted it so bad, you have no idea. The moment I saw you I wanted to fuck you more than I have ever wanted to fuck anyone else in my entire life,” Enjolras says, and god, he pulls out and the drag is _so good_ and holy fucking shit _he gets to do it again_. “Oh my god. Oh my god, you were right, this is going to be so embarrassing.”

“It really is,” Grantaire says, and when Enjolras thrusts in – hard and fast and _so good oh fuck_ \- Grantaire moans, hands fisting in the ridiculous sheets. “Right, that. That was so good, okay, that’s where to aim.”

“I wasn’t aiming at all,” Enjolras breathes out, but he can absolutely do that, he wants to do that all of the time. He doesn’t pull all of the way out this time, but it’s not shallow at all, he snaps his hips back and forth and it’s amazing, it’s heaven, and Grantaire is so fucking loud now, groaning like Enjolras is torturing him and he loves every second of it. He has no rhythm but he is trying so hard, even if he feels like he’s dying from how good it feels, because _Grantaire_ , oh fuck, he wants it to be so good for Grantaire, it’s so good for Enjolras and he wants it to be even better for Grantaire. “Is this good?” he ends up asking.

Grantaire tries to laugh, but Enjolras is fucking him faster now, hard and deep and fast, and what should be a laugh ends as a choked-off shout and he says, “It is so good, so so good, you are the best fucking virgin ever.”

“Oh thank god,” Enjolras says, and he wants to live inside of Grantaire, he wants to be as deep and desperately warm and he is _so tight_ , and this is not lasting long at all, he can’t breathe and it’s _so good_ , can’t breathe at all but he somehow finds the air to say, “Please, please date me, Grantaire.”

And Grantaire moans and it is the filthiest sexiest thing he has ever heard in his entire life and Enjolras comes so fucking hard he’s dizzy from it and he’s slumped over Grantaire’s back, nuzzling into his hair and shaking apart and Grantaire is whimpering beneath him. Or Enjolras is whimpering. Or both of them. Either way, Enjolras bites into the sweat-damp curls of Grantaire’s hair and wraps a hand around his cock and jerks him off using every single trick Enjolras knows. Which is not many. But he sure as fuck tries and he whispers nonsense to Grantaire and Grantaire’s replies of _oh please oh please please please_ get louder and louder until he comes with a shout in Enjolras’ hand.

Enjolras slumps back, boneless, and is so fucking glad nobody can see how close he is to passing out. And fuck, he never got out of his shirt. For some reason he’s irrationally angry about wearing a shirt. It’s survived this much sex intact, all buttons fully secure in their thread and positions, and Enjolras wipes his hand on it and rips the shirt off, watching buttons pop off and launch into the room.

“I liked that shirt,” Grantaire comments, and slides over to Enjolras. They’re curled together on top of the bed, and Enjolras can’t stop touching him, even if it’s drunken pawing. Since Grantaire keeps kissing him, he thinks it’s probably okay.

“Can we use beds for sleeping?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods, so Enjolras pulls the sheets down and curls tightly around Grantaire, who makes a low happy noise in the back of his throat. “They clear the rooms out at six.”

Enjolras is rapidly falling in love with the scent of Grantaire’s hair, even loaded with sweat and sex. And he is rapidly falling asleep, and he’s pretty sure Grantaire is too, so he tightens his hold on him and asks, “Grantaire?”

“Yes, dear?” Grantaire answers, fond and mocking.

“Can I take you out to breakfast?” Enjolras asks, and is strangely nervous. He’s never had sex before tonight, and he’s never even _wanted_ to date someone before tonight.

“You usually take someone to dinner first instead of breakfast after, but you’re pretty, so I’ll take it,” Grantaire says, and turns to give Enjolras a soft, tired kiss. “Buy me waffles.”

Enjolras is going to buy him twenty waffles.

“I really like you,” Enjolras says quietly.

Grantaire smiles at him, and gives him one more kiss before stretching out comfortably in bed, in Enjolras’ arms. “Then you can take me to dinner, too.”


End file.
